“Relax,” I say and pat his arm. “My body is solely for my pleasure. No man under this roof is going to touch it.”
I swear Antonio whimpers at my remark. “Say that again,Tesorina.”
His eyes have darkened deeper, richer chocolate. I lean in, wanting to kiss him, taste him, explore his mouth with my tongue.
But I refrain from letting my desires and impulses win. I slip past him and head into the living room to check on the twins. Not that they need my attention, but I need them right now, or I’d do something that I might regret.
* * *
I can’t sleep. I haven’t been trying for very long, but I’m not tired. It’s like my feet want to move, to dance, to be set free.
And I’m still just a caged bird.
At least my cage is a little bigger. I have the entire third floor, but aside from the twins’ room right next door, the rest of the suites are empty.
Antonio has agreed to turn one of the rooms into a playroom for the twins and another, he intends to make a surprise for me.
I don’t know what he thinks I want him to do with that room, but I’m curious to see the results.
It’s just after eleven, and I should be winding down.
But I’m wide awake, like I had a double shot of espresso.
I sneak out of my bedroom, carefully closing the door behind myself without so much as a squeak.
There’s no sign of Mario outside my door, which is a welcome relief. Are there surveillance cameras set up throughout the inside of the complex? I haven’t seen any, but that doesn’t mean they’re not hidden away, out of sight.
I know better than to snoop. I’m bound to get caught, even late at night; some guards are awake watching the house all night.
My footfalls are light and silent as I slip quietly down to the main floor and into the kitchen. I’m bored, and my mind is under-stimulated, which is probably why I can’t sleep. Being cooped up in the complex hasn’t helped me in the slightest.
And the fact it’s snowing outside doesn’t give me relief that I’ll be able to go out soon and enjoy a walk in the warmth.
I don’t have snow boots or a coat warm enough for the frigid temperatures outside.
At least the complex is warm, comfortable. I saunter into the kitchen and peek into the fridge. Nothing grabs my interest.
I’m not hungry. The meals have been adequate.
Okay, if I’m honest, they’re more than just passable. They’ve been quite tasty, and I hate to admit that Antonio’s chef is far better than Mikhail’s. Not that I’d ever say as much.
I shut the fridge and sneak down the hall. There’s a liquor cabinet in the corner of one of the rooms I’d seen earlier in the week. I hadn’t checked to see if it was locked.
The house is dark, and I stumble unceremoniously as I attempt to find the light switch.
My hand smacks the wall, finally flipping the switch.
Antonio is seated on the couch, a glass of scotch in his hand. “What are you doing?” he asks.
“I could ask you that,” I say, breezing past him as I head for the cabinet and make myself a drink. I pour half amaretto and half sour mix into a glass.
“Have a seat.” Antonio invites me to stay.
I sip my drink, making sure it’s to my liking before I collapse onto the sofa beside him.
“How often have you been coming down here, sneaking my alcohol?”
Does he think this is a regular occurrence? Is he accusing me of stealing from him?